Oh, to Remember Myself
by Egon-Starcollector
Summary: Grissom and Catherine try to help an amnesiac recover her memory so she can return to her husband--but what happens when Greg falls in love with her?


Oh, to Remember Myself  
  
--by Egon Starcollector  
  
Rated: PG for sensuality.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own 'CSI' or its characters. I only own "Jane Cooper" and co. And believe me, I won't make a penny off of this!  
  
"We're taking on a *what?*" Gil Grissom asked in disbelief.  
  
"An amnesia victim," Jim Brass repeated.  
  
"Well, you have to admit we don't deal with the living very often," Catherine Willows said.  
  
"I know, but the usual methods of identifying this girl aren't working. Either you get her or the X-Files do. The cops are at their wits' end." Catherine glanced at Grissom; she could tell he was fighting as hard as she was to keep from making a snide comment about someone like the sheriff.  
  
The three of them walked into the interrogation room. A pretty, delicate-featured woman in roughly her late twenties sat at the table, twirling the end of her ash blonde braid in her fingers. "Miss, these are the investigators I said would be speaking to you," Brass said. She dropped her hair, letting the braid fall to well below the chair seat, and looked up with deep violet eyes.  
  
"Good. I hope you can help me." Her voice was soft, and she was failing in her efforts to keep it calm.  
  
"Why don't you start at the beginning?" Grissom asked, not unkindly.  
  
"As far as I can recall?" She sighed. "About eighteen months ago, I found myself in the bus station downtown. I had several thousand dollars and some jewelry concealed in a money belt and a hidden purse, but no identification. Otherwise, I only had the things I was wearing. I didn't know where I came from, how I got to the bus station, and...." Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard. "I don't know who I am."  
  
"Why didn't you ask for help sooner?" Catherine wanted to know. "Eighteen months is a long time."  
  
"I know. I guess...I was scared." She took a deep breath. "I found a place to live, calling myself 'Jane Cooper.' I got the name out of a magazine I was flipping through at the bus station." She smiled, a little sadly. "I found work at a fast-food restaurant just around the corner from where I was staying. As soon as I had a roof over my head, I went shopping so I'd have other clothes to wear. I went to a Wal-Mart...bought some clothes and some groceries. I didn't even know what to get, so I had to guess at what sounded good!" She managed a faint, nervous laugh at that. "The oddest thing happened when I was there, though...as I went past the craft department, I felt *pulled* to go in. I found the yarn and the crochet hooks...and I just knew I knew how to use them! I could...see the stitches forming in my mind...so I bought a hook, some scissors, and some yarn. And when I went back to my room, I sat down...and I *did* know what to do with them! I couldn't remember my own *name,* but I remembered how to crochet! And...and one word. 'Reeds.' I don't know what it means, but that was all that came to me. Isn't that strange?" The investigators conceded that it was.  
  
"I finally decided I couldn't wait any more. I had to know who I was. See...I was wearing these when I 'came to' in the bus station." She thrust out her left hand, where a gold and diamond wedding set gleamed in the lamplight. "That's why I need to know. Someone...someone must miss me."  
  
After the interview, Catherine was a bit skeptical. "Why would she wait a year and a half to look for help?"  
  
Brass shrugged. "I don't know. But, the doctor says she's genuine. There's no sign of physical trauma, so it was probably shock."  
  
"But couldn't bringing back her memory bring back the shock?" Grissom wanted to know.  
  
"She says that's a risk she has to take."  
  
"Jane, first we're going to have to take DNA samples from you. That way we can find out if your DNA is on file somewhere and we can identify you right away. We're also going to have you speak to a linguist who specializes in accents and dialects, and he can narrow down the region where you're from."  
  
"All right, Mr. Grissom. I certainly appreciate this."  
  
"This is Greg Sanders, our chief chemist. He specializes in DNA, and he'll be doing your genetic profile."  
  
"You make me sound like I'll be her waiter toni--whoa." Greg froze, spellbound by the pretty violet eyes that gazed up at him pleadingly. Their eyes locked, and suddenly Jane blushed and looked away.  
  
"Greg," Grissom's voice broke in, "this young woman, whom you may call 'Jane Cooper' for now, needs our help to remember who she is."  
  
"Ah, right. One profile, coming up," said Greg, obviously flustered. As Grissom left and walked down the hall, Greg reached for some sealed swabs.  
  
"Um, is this going to hurt?"  
  
Greg smiled softly. "No...not if I can help it. I'm just going to take some nasal swabs and a saliva sample. You see, I can test those for DNA as well as I can blood. It's less invasive, and saliva is actually a better source of DNA molecules."  
  
"Really? That's fascinating...on t.v. it always sounds like they have to stick you with a needle or something."  
  
"Nah...we're not the barbarians the press make us out to be." He put on gloves and opened a swab. "Now just hold still." He put his left hand gently on her lower jaw and lifted her chin. He carefully swabbed her nostrils, all the while studying her eyes. *Violet eyes?* he said to himself. *Does she have any idea how rare her DNA is?*  
  
"There...now that wasn't so bad, was it?" he said, reluctantly taking his hand off her chin.  
  
"No, not at all."  
  
"Okay, now as the dentist says: please spit," he said, handing her a paper cup.  
  
She wrinkled her nose adorably. "Gross! Must I?"  
  
He nodded. "'Fraid so."  
  
She grimaced, blushed, and then turned her back to him. *Ptooey!* "Yuck." She handed the cup back, wiping her mouth gingerly.  
  
"Here." He grabbed a tissue and gently...gently pressed it to her lips. Was he imagining things, or...did she so-softly kiss his fingertips? Their eyes locked again. He wondered if she could hear his heart pounding. For that matter, he figured *Grissom* could hear it!  
  
"Miss Cooper, are you ready to speak to the linguist?" Typical Grissom timing.  
  
"Um...I don't know. Am I?" Her eyes seemed to beg for an excuse for her to stay, but Greg couldn't think of one. Not one Grissom wouldn't see through, at least.  
  
"Um...for now. You may want to stop back in a couple of hours just in case, though."  
  
She brightened suddenly. "All right." And then--poof! She was gone out the door.  
  
"Ooooooh wow." Greg put his head in his hands and waited for the giddiness to wear off.  
  
"Well, how'd the interview with the linguist go?" Catherine wanted to know.  
  
"Remarkably well. The minute she needed a drink of water, Dr. Farnon knew what state she was from."  
  
"What? Gil, this is a joke, right?"  
  
"No, not at all. Simply put, Miss Cooper asked where the 'bubbler' was."  
  
"What is she, British?"  
  
"Oh, no. You see, forty-nine out of the fifty states say 'drinking fountain.' In Wisconsin alone, it's a 'bubbler.' Rudolph further told me that it signified she was a native, and that her family had probably been in the state for several generations. She also was probably not from a metropolitan part of the state."  
  
"All that from 'bubbler?'"  
  
"Well, the word is only used by someone who is *truly* a native, someone whose parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents were all Wisconsinites. It's only uttered by someone like that who is utterly immersed in traditional culture. People in rural areas are more likely in any state or country to cling to tradition than are city dwellers. Ergo, a person who says 'bubbler' is about as hard-core Wisconsinite as you can get. And Catherine, if it helps any, I didn't believe him at first either."  
  
She chuckled. "So what about when she came back from the 'bubbler?'"  
  
"He managed to pinpoint her to southern Wisconsin, probably the western half. She said 'y'all,' which occurs in southern Wisconsin almost as frequently as in the southeastern United States. And she referred to a stone wall as a 'ha-ha.'" He shrugged. "That's when I had to get some fresh air."  
  
"Well...at least it narrows down the search area. Now we only have a quarter of a state to look through instead of the whole country. Thank you Rudolph Farnon, king of mumbo-jumbo."  
  
After her interview with the linguist, Jane--*or whomever,* she thought ruefully--asked if she could walk around and stretch her legs a bit. Grissom said she certainly could, so she set off through the halls. Unconsciously, her feet led her down the hall to the lab...Greg's lab. She paused, then stepped inside.  
  
She caught her breath at the sight of him bent over a microscope. He looked so...she couldn't find words for it! She gazed, speechless, for a few minutes...then nervously cleared her throat.  
  
His face lit up when he saw her. "Hey! Um, the results aren't quite ready yet."  
  
"Oh that's okay...I can wait."  
  
He fell suddenly silent. "Grissom says you're married." He looked betrayed.  
  
She swallowed. "I...I don't know. I just know I was wearing a wedding set when I came to in the bus station."  
  
"He's a lucky man if you are."  
  
The silence in the room was suddenly thick as gravy. Painful, too. "I guess...I shouldn't have come back. I'd better get back to the office."  
  
"No wait! Um, don't you want to see the results?"  
  
"Um...sure."  
  
They made awkward small talk until the machine beeped. Greg picked up the printout, and a puzzled look crossed his face.  
  
"What's the matter?"  
  
"Well, on the one hand, may I just say you have some truly...incredible...DNA?" He sounded like he was trying not to drool. "On the other hand...nothing. You must not have been blood typed or anything!"  
  
She put her head in her hands. "I don't believe this...it's like I never existed!"  
  
"Hey, come on. Grissom's the best in the business...he'll figure this out." He rubbed her back gently. She shivered at his touch. "Should I stop?" he asked softly.  
  
"No...."  
  
He put both his hands on her shoulders, massaging her gently. She almost melted. She sighed as he worked his way slowly down her back to her waist. "Just how long is your hair, unbraided?"  
  
"Almost to my knees."  
  
He whistled. He wondered how it would feel to run his fingers through the shimmering mass, to comb it out and let it spill over him.... "Feel better?"  
  
"Much."  
  
She sat down. He sat down in the chair opposit her. He was just a few feet away.... She let her eyes wander over his elven face. He smiled softly at her, clearly subjecting her to the same kind of scrutiny. He pressed his foot gently against hers. Impulsively, she slid her foot out of the ballerina flat she was wearing. She slid her foot slowly over his, then slid the tips of her toes up...up...just under the hem of his pants. She stroked his leg softly with her stockinged foot.  
  
He grabbed the arms of his chair and shuddered. His eyes rolled back in his head as he let out an audible moan. Every molecule in his body told him to grab her and kiss her until she was dizzy....  
  
They both seemed to recall her wedding ring at the same moment. They jumped apart. He turned away from her, biting his knuckles. She huddled in her chair and hugged herself. They were both miserable.  
  
"Greg, any results yet from that DNA test?"  
  
"Yes and no, Cath."  
  
"Yes and no?"  
  
"Yes, I got her DNA profile. No, it didn't match anyone in the database."  
  
"Greaaat. Back to the map. Greg...is there something wrong?"  
  
He was silent for a moment. Then: "Catherine...why are the good ones always just out of reach?"  
  
She reflected on her own past. On meeting Grissom when she was already married to Eddie.... "I wish I knew, Greg. But you know...sometimes they aren't as far out of reach as you think."  
  
Catherine stopped in the break room to check on Jane. The younger woman lay sprawled on the sofa, a crochet hook--with its work in progress attached--on the floor by her hand. She was crying.  
  
"Jane? Jane, what's the matter?" She stroked the ash blonde hair gently, trying to stem the flow of tears.  
  
"I'm a married woman," came the muffled response.  
  
Catherine blinked. "I guess I don't follow."  
  
Jane raised her head. "I'm a married woman. That means my attraction to Greg is wrong...but then why is it so hard to fight?"  
  
Catherine thought for a minute. She'd asked herself that question many times.... "It's only human to be attracted to someone. I'm not saying it makes it any easier--God knows it was hard on me--but it *is* natural sometimes."  
  
Jane gave her a puzzled look. "On you?"  
  
Catherine sighed. "I used to be married. I met my husband at my last job and thought he was Mr. Right. He sure talked like he was. We got married...then I went back to school. We had a little girl, I started working here.... And then I met someone who was my husband's polar opposite. He respected me for my intelligence and ambition. He respected me as a *person*.... But it wasn't until I discovered my husband was keeping a few secrets from me that I realized how little *he* respected me. So, we got divorced...I found out my friend had feelings for me, and well...we've been seeing each other ever since."  
  
Jane thought for a moment, then smiled. "Mr. Grissom?"  
  
"That obvious?"  
  
"Yup." She grinned. In a moment, she grew serious again. "It won't be an easy decision for me...."  
  
"Probably not. But you just have to decide what's right."  
  
Jane nodded. "I've been trying to remember how to pray about it. I should know that...."  
  
Catherine didn't know how to respond. Instead, she pointed at the dropped needlework. "What's that you're making?"  
  
"Oh, an evening bag for a coworker. I make a lot of stuff and sell it to people I've met to bring in a little extra money."  
  
"Huh. Where'd you get the pattern?"  
  
Jane tapped her head. "I'm making it up as I go along."  
  
"I'm impressed."  
  
"I could teach you."  
  
"Ohhh I wish. I'd love to make pretty stuff for my daughter, but I am *so* clumsy when it comes to crafts it isn't funny."  
  
"It's easy! Let me show you...."  
  
Just then, Grissom poked his head in to tell Catherine their lunch had arrived. "Raincheck?" she asked Jane.  
  
"Sure! I should run and get something to eat myself, now that you mention it. When should I be back?"  
  
Grissom and Catherine looked at each other. "An hour?" he suggested.  
  
"Okay!"  
  
"What's going on?" he wanted to know.  
  
"Oh...a little female bonding."  
  
"Hm. Greg said he'd given you the results of the DNA profile."  
  
"Yep. No matches anywhere."  
  
"Exactly. How's the map search going?"  
  
"I may have stumbled onto something, but I'm waiting for a couple of phone calls to be returned."  
  
"All right. I spoke to the psychologist again, trying to get some sort of evaluation. He said that while we may be able to tell Miss Cooper who she really is, it might take some sort of special trigger actually to restore her memory. I expressed my concern about adverse effects if she had to relive whatever psychological trauma brought this on in the first place. He agreed that it was risky, but said that since she insisted we really couldn't contradict her."  
  
Catherine just shook her head. "Want some ketchup?"  
  
"Yeah, please."  
  
Catherine's cell phone rang shortly after lunch. "Catherine Willows."  
  
"Yeah, this is Sergeant Rodney Meister of the Reedsburg Police Department. You said you had some questions about possible missing persons cases?"  
  
"Yes, I do. As I said in the voice mail I left you, my department is trying to help an amnesia victim who has tried unsuccessfully to find her real identity. We believe she may be from your area originally and wondered if you had any missing persons cases dating to about eighteen months ago?"  
  
"As a matter of fact, I do! I pulled the file...do you have a fax machine handy?"  
  
"Right next to me." She gave him the number; it soon rang, and a sheaf of paper began pouring out.  
  
"I hope this is your girl, frankly; there are a lot of people here who'd like to know what happened to her."  
  
"Well, I'll let you know. Thanks, Sergeant!"  
  
  
  
"Grissom?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I think I've ID'ed our amnesiac."  
  
"You what?"  
  
"Remember she said she remembered the word 'reeds?' Well, while I was looking at a map of southwestern Wisconsin, this caught my eye."  
  
"Reeds."  
  
"ReedsBURG," Catherine corrected, moving her hand. "It was a stretch, but I called the Reedsburg Police and the Sauk County Sheriff's Department. A little while ago, they sent me a fax about a Reedsburg woman who disappeared about eighteen months ago." She opened the folder. "Mercy Martin, formerly Mercy Hope Cosgrove. She was a local girl, family's been there about five generations. She married her high school sweetheart, Henry "Butch" Martin, when he was home on leave from the Army. He'd been in for like nine years and was about to call it quits when he got sent to Kosovo. He never came back."  
  
She sighed. "Mercy was staying with her twin sister, Charity Faith Cosgrove. Charity said that Mercy started acting strangely when they got the letter saying Butch was dead. She kept insisting it wasn't true. By the time they sent his body home for burial, she was having blackouts. She'd find herself miles from home and not remember how she got there. Three days after the funeral, Charity woke up to find Mercy gone. Poof! Just like that."  
  
"No sign that she'd left the house? Didn't she take anything with her?"  
  
"Just some money out of her bank account. The police told Charity after a week that the odds weren't good, but she insisted Mercy was still alive. She said if anything happened to her sister, she'd be the first to know. You know how twins are."  
  
Grissom nodded. "But are you sure this is the right woman?"  
  
She rolled her eyes. "I don't know; look at the pictures and tell me what you think." There were two of them. The one on the left showed the twins: the one with the long braid obviously the confused young woman sitting in Grissom's office, the other her mirror image in every detail save for a chin-length bob. The other showed the twin with the braid standing with a dark-haired young man in an Army dress uniform. "That's Mercy and Butch's engagment picture."  
  
"A handsome couple."  
  
"Oh, and you know how she thought it was odd that she could remember how to crochet when she couldn't even remember her own name? Seems Mercy Martin was an up-and-coming crochet designer at the time of her disappearance. She'd been crocheting since she was a kid, and liked to prove to her friends that she could crochet in the dark."  
  
"Muscle memory!"  
  
"Exactly."  
  
He paused, and then stared at Catherine. "Mercy Hope and Charity Faith?"  
  
She shrugged. "Staunch Lutherans."  
  
A few minutes later, they stood in Grissom's office. "We think we've found your name," Catherine said softly.  
  
"You have?" The violet eyes widened with delight.  
  
Grissom passed the pictures to her. "Do you recognize any of these people?"  
  
She stared blankly at the page for a few moments...then recognition spread across her features and she broke down crying. "Six months...we'd only been married six months...."  
  
Not knowing what else to do, Catherine hugged the young woman and let her cry.  
  
Jane/Mercy finally composed herself. "I couldn't handle it...I didn't want to believe we could have so little time together.... Am-am I crazy?"  
  
"No," Grissom said gently. "The doctor I spoke to said sometimes the only way we can deal with severe emotional trauma is quite literally to forget ourselves. He'd like to talk to you...he thinks he can help you."  
  
The young woman nodded. "I'd like that." She sniffled. "I'd like to go on being me...and...I think now I *am* strong enough to do it."  
  
"There's one more thing," Catherine said. Grissom and Jane/Mercy looked puzzled. Catherine handed the young woman her cell phone. "I think you should call your sister. She's been worried about you." Catherine motioned to Grissom, and they stepped outside.  
  
"Good work, Catherine."  
  
"Always," she smirked.  
  
A soft, feminine voice wafted from Grissom's office. "Charity? It's me...I'm okay."  
  
A few weeks later, Catherine bumped into Mercy in the hall. "Hello! Kind of a surprise to see you here."  
  
"Well, I just finished my appointment with the psychologist. He says I'm doing better."  
  
"Well, that's good to know." She smiled. "I figured you'd be in Wisconsin by now."  
  
Mercy shook her head. "Too many memories yet. And too many appointments here!" She laughed and jerked her thumb towards the psychologist's door. "So...still want to take me up on that raincheck?"  
  
"You know what? I think I would. What do I need?"  
  
Mercy pulled a notepad out of her purse and scribbled a list. "Wal- Mart," she said by way of explanation.  
  
"Sure, if I can get directions to the craft section," Catherine said, chuckling and studying the list as she made her way down the hall.  
  
"Mercy!" A male voice behind her caused Mercy to turn around.  
  
"Greg?"  
  
"Hi! It...*is* Mercy, right?"  
  
She smiled. "Yes, evidently it is."  
  
"Um, I was sorry to hear about your husband...."  
  
"Well, thank you."  
  
"Um listen. This may not be the best time so I'll understand if you say no, but...would you like to go to the movies Saturday night? With me?"  
  
Mercy's face lit up. She felt her heart begin not only to heal, but to soar. "I'd love to!" 


End file.
